


Shuck Tom for Huck

by Amuly



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gap Filler, Mentions of past abuse, Season/Series 04, ala carol/ed relationship, but not by much, pre-season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl finds out what really goes on in Carol's "story time" with the kids and isn't happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shuck Tom for Huck

The children stared up at Carol, wide-eyed and eager as they absorbed every word she said with a seriousness that belied their few years.

“Today you're going to learn how to break free if someone grabs you, okay?” The youngest boy, Luke, clutched tight to his older sister's side as he listened, wide-eyed and no little bit of scared. Although Carol didn't want to give the poor things nightmares—at least, no more than already surely visited them nightly—Carol had to emphasize the importance of what she was saying. “And you guys are small. That means you've got the advantage: you can slip holds and escape better than us bigger folk.”

Standing up, Carol gestured for the children to follow her lead. She paired them off, then stole Patrick to help her with the demonstration. “So, what I want you guys to do is take turns grabbing hold of each other's wrists, at first. Patrick, if you would?” Hesitantly, Patrick came forward and reached for Carol's wrist.

Turning to the children, Carol showed off how Patrick was holding her wrist. “You see where his index finger comes together with his thumb? And the little gap there? That's where you want to try and break free. That's the weak point.” Carol tugged her wrist up as Patrick held on, to show all the children what she was talking about clearly. She pointed at the gap where Patrick's forefinger and thumb didn't quite meet. “There won't always be a gap there, especially if it's an adult hand grabbing onto you. But that's okay. It's still the weak spot. Now, with that in mind, what you're going to want to do is turn your wrist so the side is pointing to the gap. You want to try and make your wrist as thin as possible for when you're breaking free.”

The children's little eyes were trained carefully on her hand. Carol turned her wrist slowly, showing off every move to them. “Then, once you're in position, you tug out, sharp and quick.” Unable to do this part slow, Carol moved quick, breaking free of Patrick's admittedly loose hold on her wrist in one easy motion. Mika clapped, just a little bit. Carol nodded at them. “Alright, we all saw how it was done? Now you try. Take turns.”

The children turned to each other, grabbing at wrists and trying to tug themselves free. They'd do this for ten minutes, then ten minutes of arm holds, ten minutes of neck holds. As luck would have it, Carol was well-versed in some kinds of self defense, even before all this. Mostly the running and hiding kinds, but that was perfect for teaching the children. For now at least: until they worked their way up to something a little more offensive.

Carol bent forward to help out Lizzie. “No, make sure you turn your wrist. Like that.” Carol guided Lizzie's wrist, turning it over and over again so she would get a feel for the motion. “Then bring it out _sharp_.”

Lizzie frowned, tugging lightly at Patrick's grip on her, not getting anywhere close to free.

“You're going to have to better than that,” Patrick teased.

“Yes: you are.” Carol wasn't teasing.

Lizzie glared at Carol. “I don't want to hurt him.”

Carol pointed around the room at the other children practicing. “No one's hurting anyone. Patrick, did it hurt when I got out of your grip?”

“No ma'am,” Patrick immediately replied.

“You see? It doesn't hurt.” Carol failed to point out that sometime Lizzie _was_ going to have to hurt someone. They'd be getting to those sorts of lessons soon enough.

Carol stepped back and straightened up. “Now try again.”

As Lizzie tried again, a _little_ bit more forcefully this time, but not much, the floor creaked behind Carol. As casual as she could, Carol glanced behind her.

Daryl was standing there, skulking in the shadows, frown deeper than the Grand Canyon carving into his face. Carol met his eyes for a moment, a wordless “ _Later_ ” passing between them.

Daryl seated himself off to the side, just at the edge of the reading space. He shot an equally as wordless look back at Carol, which was equally clear: _“No. Now_.”

“I'm sorry, guys, but it looks like we'll have to cut our lesson short for today. Got some chores that need doing.”

Some of the children pouted, but they all dutifully collected themselves and scurried out the door. Carol put everything to right that needed putting without looking at Daryl. He just waited, sitting at the edge of the circle, watching her.

Well, shit.

With nothing left to do, Carol turned to Daryl, arms crossed protectively over her chest.

“I suppose you want to know what I think I'm doing here?” Carol asked.

“No. Pretty clear.”

Carol's mouth twisted to the side. Right, it would be. “Then you know why I got to do this.”

“Thought you were educating them,” Daryl growled. “Thought you were giving them stories.”

“I'm supposed to protect these children,” Carol pointed out. “Just the same as everyone else. This is what I can do, so I'm going to do it.”

“You were 'supposed' to be treating them good. Giving them a break from everything, from the shit out there.” Daryl stormed closer, gesturing down between them with a sharp slashing motion for his next words. “But then you went and brought all that in there? All that shit, all that fear: you brought it into the only time the kids had to take their minds off the whole sorry shit-show.”

“World doesn't go away,” Carol replied calmly.

“It should for them!” Daryl shouted. “You were supposed to _make it_!”

Carol's hands weren't shaking. Her knees weren't trembling, bowels didn't feel watery, heart wasn't crawling its way up through her throat. This man she was attaching herself to, more and more these days, he was yelling at her, but for once she wasn't about to cower in the corner. But what was really amazing wasn't that she wasn't scared: it was that Daryl didn't _make_ her scared.

Oh, sure: she was a different woman than she was with Ed. A different woman than before she had lost Sophie. This world had a way of polishing your sharp. But she couldn't take all the credit. Couldn't say that if Daryl decided to get mean with her, that she wouldn't let him. She thought she wouldn't, thought she was better than that now (or maybe just too worn and tired to let herself be afraid, to give in to a man like that again). But it wasn't just her being a stronger person that made her unafraid: it was Daryl, too. Even with him shouting at her, Carol knew he wasn't going to hurt her. Knew he'd never lay a finger on her like that, not no matter what. She'd have to die and turn walker before he ever had a thought of violence against her person enter his head.

That gave Carol confidence. Confidence enough to do what she knew was right, stand up for what needed to be done.

“They need this more than an escape, Daryl.” Careful, but bold, Carol stepped forward into Daryl's space and pressed a hand to his forearm. “They need to be safe, and we can't always guarantee that for them. Better to teach them this than to rely on us.”

Daryl shook his head like a dog shaking a chew toy. Carol pressed her lips tighter and moved in closer into Daryl.

“I want to make them safe. Make them able to take care of themselves, in case they need to.”

Carol looked straight at Daryl, made sure to meet his eyes. He got that look, that kicked pup look, and she knew he knew what she meant. Sophie. It was about Sophie. She needed to make sure he knew that.

Daryl knew, though. Knew probably before she pointed it out. Sophie was a part of Daryl's heart, too. He had been the one to go look for her, staying out for days and days trying to track her. He knew she was doing this for her, because of her. But he still wasn't happy about it, somehow.

Well, it didn't matter if he was happy about it. What really mattered was: “You going to tell Rick?”

“Wouldn't do that.” Daryl's reply was immediate, much to Carol's surprise. Then again, Carol supposed if she considered what she knew of Daryl's upbringing, his relationship with his brother, she should have known better than to have thought Daryl would have ratted her out to Rick. His loyalty to the ones he loved ran too deep for that. And even though Rick was family, same as everyone in their group, Carol had the advantage of holding Daryl's heart. And this was too important not to use every advantage she had.

Before Carol could make the mistake of trying to thank Daryl, or worse, prolong the argument, Daryl tucked his ubiquitous crossbow onto his shoulder and turned away.

“Where you going?”

“Hunting,” was Daryl's curt reply. “Kids need someone to bring them something good.”

Carol crossed her arms and watched Daryl storm off out of the room. After a moment she turned away and collected the book she had been supposedly reading to the children. _Adventures of Tom Sawyer_. Carol wiped a hand over the cover of the book and sighed. She knew she was right, knew the children needed to be able to defend themselves. But she did hate making Daryl so upset.

**

That night, Carol didn't expect Daryl to stop by her room to say goodnight. When he did, Carol was reclining on her bed, Tom Sawyer open in her lap, but not having turned a page for at least five minutes. When he did finally show up, it took her a moment to see him hovering there in the doorway, head bent down, feet shuffling awkwardly. Carol sat up quickly, snapping her book shut.

“Hey-” she started. Then she stopped, bit her lip, tried again. “You can come in. If you'd like.”

With a none-too-subtle glance around the cellblock, Daryl slipped into Carol's cell and tugged the curtain shut behind him. He didn't make a move to step any closer, though: just stood barely inside the doorway and stared down at his feet.

Well, if he wasn't going to come to her, Carol would just have to go to him (and that should be the motto for them, it really should). Carol slipped off the bed to her feet and padded softly over to him. He was still looking down, still avoiding her eyes. Carefully, watching him like he was a spooked cat, Carol pressed a hand to his forearm. When he didn't pull away, she tugged.

“Come on: sit down. You must be tired after getting that buck.”

Daryl actually let himself be sat down on the edge of Carol's bed, which was either a testament to how tired he actually was or to how much he had grown used to listening to Carol.

Carol sat next to him, waiting patiently. He'd spit out whatever he was thinking in his own time. With maybe only a _little_ bit of cajoling.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

Carol smiled, leaning in to squeeze at Daryl's bicep. “That's alright.”

Daryl grunted like he disagreed, but didn't say anything. Besides, it really _was_ alright: just because Carol had been stuck in a bad situation with men before didn't mean she was some wilting flower, ready to turn tail at the first shout. Nor did it mean she couldn't tell the difference between Daryl and Ed. She and Daryl had fought, he had raised his voice: it happened. He hadn't got mean with her, hadn't gone after her.

But it _was_ sweet that he was apologizing.

“I'm not going to apologize for teaching those kids to live,” Carol pointed out.

“Figured,” Daryl grunted.

Carol waited a beat, for Daryl to say more. When he didn't, she prompted: “Are you going to try and stop me?”

A long pause. Carol wasn't nervous: she could already tell by Daryl's body language that he wasn't going to stop her. That's why he was here, after all, and not visiting with Rick or calling a council meeting.

In the silence Daryl reached down next to him on the bed, picking up the battered copy of Tom Sawyer. He flipped through it absently as Carol waited.

“Read this one. Summer reading.” Carol waited as Daryl paused, blunted fingers tracing over the words. “Had to hide out in the woods to get it done, where no one would bother me.” Another pause, the sound of flipping pages loud in the quiet of Carol's cell. “Always liked Huck better, though. The kid, not the book, though the book was alright. Tom was...”

“A little bit of a prick?” Carol suggested, when Daryl trailed off.

 _That_ at least drew a quiet snort from Daryl. He shook his head. “Everything worked out for him, all perfect. He got out of the caves, he got to see his own funeral, got those kids to paint the fence, didn't get his smart-ass _shot_ like he should've.”

“And life isn't that good,” Carol finished for him.

Daryl nodded jerkily. “Maybe,” he mumbled. “But I still liked reading about it. How it could be.”

Carol sighed and rested her head against Daryl's shoulder. “You're not wrong: thinking those children could use an escape. But if I don't teach them, they won't stay alive long enough to read _Tom Sawyer_ themselves.”

“I know,” Daryl mumbled. Carol felt the words rumble through his cheek, pressed against the top of her head.

A thought occurred to Carol. “You should read to them.”

Daryl went real still against her, whole body feeling like it was preparing to run. The tension left as suddenly as it had come, and Daryl snorted sarcastically. “Yeah, sure.”

Pushing off from his side, Carol turned to look Daryl straight in the eye. “I mean it. You want to take care of the children just as much as I do.” Daryl was getting squirrely now, like he really was going to run. Carol pressed her hand to his forearm, keeping him in place. “Once a week, you could come in: substitute teacher. And give the kids an actual story time.”

“Should be every day,” Daryl mumbled. But he was warming up to the idea, Carol could tell.

“What about twice a week?” Carol proposed. “Tuesdays and Thursdays, or Mondays and Wednesdays. Something like that?”

After a long moment Daryl nodded, just a quick little thing. Carol smiled, affection for this overgrown boy bubbling in her chest so much it ached. She contented herself with pressing her face to his shoulder and relaxing against him. One of his arms came up to wrap around her and hold her close.

“And put one of 'em on watch,” Daryl suggested, mouth moving against the top of her head. “Don't want Rick to find out, same way I did. Can't say he'd be as kindly towards the idea.”

Carol nodded, eyes closed. She slipped a hand out to squeeze at his leg, letting it rest there against his thigh. “Alright.”

“The little one,” Daryl suggested. “Luke. He's too young to be getting much good out of it as it is. Sharp eye, careful ear: watching's the best skill he could learn, at his age.”

At another time Carol might have filched at the statement, and the painfully obvious experience that was its source, but right this moment she was too relaxed and happy to do much more than squeeze Daryl's leg again in comfort.

“Alright,” she agreed. Then she lifted her head and met Daryl's eyes. “Thank you.”

Daryl's eyes slid away, all embarrassed like he still got when they were close like this, even when no one else was around. “Yeah, alright,” he mumbled.

Smiling up at him, Carol leaned in and drew him in for a kiss, since he never took the initiative himself. As Daryl grunted softly and Carol pushed him down onto the bed, Carol smiled into the kiss. Daryl was right: everyone needed a little escape once in a while.  


End file.
